


in the happy fields

by Pepel_in_Kri



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Period-Typical Sexism, rhaelya AU week 2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29922003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pepel_in_Kri/pseuds/Pepel_in_Kri
Summary: The Red Keep is said to be far grander than Winterfell or any of the castles in the North but Lyanna finds that the splendor is empty and dull. The streets of King’s Landing are cramped and smelly, the air is humid and the people smile queerly, the expression not reaching their eyes.Whenever she asks how long they’ll stay, her mother clicks her tongue and looks somewhere to the side, shying from giving a straight answer.“As long as Her Majesty has a need of me.”or: the rhaelya childhood friends AU that nobody asked for.
Relationships: Arthur Dayne & Lyanna Stark, Arthur Dayne & Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen
Comments: 11
Kudos: 60





	in the happy fields

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the poem "To a Friend who sent me some roses" by John Keats. It seemed fitting for this story.  
> I planned it as a short one-shot for the rhaelyaAU week but it got away from me a lil bit.

The Red Keep is said to be far grander than Winterfell or any of the castles in the North but Lyanna finds that the splendor is empty and dull. The streets of King’s Landing are cramped and smelly, the air is humid and the people smile queerly, the expression not reaching their eyes.

Whenever she asks how long they’ll stay, her mother clicks her tongue and looks somewhere to the side, shying from giving a straight answer. 

“As long as Her Majesty has a need of me.” 

Even at seven years old, Lyanna is not stupid. The Queen is a sad woman, dressed in black silks and two septas follow her around Maegor’s Holdfast like silent shadows. Her ladies might attend her as much as they want but they cannot take the burden of a dead child and a cruel husband from her.

Though she may pity the woman, Lyarra Stark walked through the gates with a different purpose. 

“Making friends,” she told her daughter, “is important. There are many highborn ladies your own age at the King’s court.”

Brandon was the one who put it in simpler terms for his siblings, with all of his eleven namedays worth of wisdom.

“They want us to make connections and see what it’s like to live in the South. They’ll think about which of us will be going back to Winterfell once they see how we take to it.”

* * *

Her mother is always busy attending tea parties and taking walks in the garden these days. Being a lady-in-waiting is appearing to be indefinitely more time-consuming than the name implies and while Lyanna is sometimes invited along to these events, she finds them terribly boring so she skips them as often as she can get away with it.

Her brothers are of little use either. Brandon has already taken over a small band of squires and could often be found marching around the castle with all five of them on his heels like a pack of stray dogs and Ned never wants to do anything. He’s always been shy but surrounded by strange new people, he seems to have completely frozen. She misses Benjen the most, her baby brother who knows how to have fun and _not_ to tell their parents, but he was declared too young to travel and left at Winterfell with Father.

_There must always be a Stark in Winterfell - how stupid._

On some days, she envies him. In Winterfell, there were horses and snow and everyone was her friend. In King’s Landing, there are septas who yell at her when her stitches are crooked - and that’s most of the time - and there are highborn girls her own age but she has yet to make friends. Much like the Queen’s Ladies, all they do is sit around and gossip and they give her weird looks every time she tries to include herself.

Conversation with them is an art form in itself. Septa Rianne has taught her all the correct and polite things to say and like a songbird, Lyanna can summon them in her sleep by now. But just because she can doesn’t mean she will and the more life at King’s Landing pushes her one way, the more she resists. 

Deep inside, she would rather have no friends than sit in a circle and chirp out words without saying anything. It feels too much like pretending and Lyanna does not like pretending; for the sake of her Lady Mother, she tries her best but it wears on her like a sandstone chipping the splinters off Benjen’s wooden toys.

Being a Lady, Lyanna decides, is too much work and she would much rather be home. It takes about a week for her to make up her mind on that but she is as certain as she’s ever been.

“You have barely even tried to fit in.” Her mother scolds. There is weariness under her eyes and the corners of her mouth are tense. Those are all warning signs that she will not relent. “You need to give it time - did your father and I raise you to quit so quickly?”

Frustrated, Lyanna stomps her foot. Mother doesn’t seem to be understanding what she’s trying to convey but she has no idea how to properly phrase the absolute certainty with which she detests this place, from the highest tower and down to the dirty, stinky canals. 

“It’s not me who’s not trying! They just don’t like me, no matter what I do! They’re stupid!”

Mother is not patient today.

“That’s enough. No more of this, Lyanna, please. Your Father and I have always tried to be nice and let you have your way, but in front of the Court, you will behave.”

* * *

Lyanna does not behave but her hatred dies down a little bit. If there is one benefit to the Red Keep, it’s its size. It sits upon the hill like a sprawled giant, with its many long, twisting hallways just waiting to be explored. She has wandered through most of the Maidenvault already but Maegor’s Holdfast proves to be far more challenging. 

There are places that are guarded heavily and she knows not to go there, even if the occasional sight of the Kingsguard tempts her. She has seen the King exactly once, on the day of her arrival, but that was enough to not want to cross him. Aerys Targaryen wore an angry face, but not in the way Father does when he is cross with her. His anger seemed dark and deep and treacherous, like the flames flickering from inside of the dragon skulls in the Great Hall and the great fearful shadows it cast poured viciously over his family. Besides him, both the Queen and the Prince seemed smothered and insignificant.

Though fearless, Lyanna knows not to wake the dragon that dwells behind these walls. Even flameless and wingless, it is a vicious beast.

Even with those places off-limits, there are still plenty of things to see. 

After a week or so, she discovers one of the secret entrances hidden behind a tapestry while trying to coax one of the castle cats into allowing itself to be petted. Squatting awkwardly with the restriction of her pretty new dress and her stiff, uncomfortable shoes, she momentarily loses balance and falls backwards. The raised edge of where the bricks stand out from the hidden trapdoor hits her right between the shoulderblades and after a couple of unladylike exclamations that echo across the hollow space, it occurs to her that this is, indeed, odd.

Pushing the tapestry aside, the trapdoor is revealed to her eyes. It’s a narrow, small thing. A grown man would be forced to crawl on his knees should he try to enter.

With her small statue, it’s hardly inconvenient for Lyanna.

By the time she resurfaces, her pretty dress is covered in dust and spider web and her head has more than one bruise from where she bumped her head on the low ceiling while crawling in the darkness. She also finds herself on the other side of the castle, in a place she’s never been before.

* * *

She returns late and Mother is angry. 

“Reckless child, this isn’t Winterfell! You cannot just crawl around to your heart’s desire!” She wrings her hands in exasperation. “And look at your dress! Would that one of the septas saw you, or gods help us, the Queen.”

“I don’t think the Queen would care.” Lyanna doubts the woman would even notice. With so many Ladies attending her, it’s a wonder she remembers who all of them are, let alone their children.

“Lya…” Mother sighs but she cannot seem to find the right words for her. “Telling you to behave isn’t going to help anything, is it? I keep telling you this is a dangerous place, but you don’t listen. What am I supposed to do with you?”

* * *

Mother asks Ned to shadow her and her brother takes up his new task dutifully as ever. It only holds her back for a little while because soon Lyanna figures a way to get rid of him.

“Lady Jeyne!” She curtsies enthusiastically at the older girl. Jeyne Swann is a slim young woman with curly hair the colour of straw and round cheeks that always appear slightly reddened. The septas always praise her needlework during the sessions but she has never once laughed at Lyanna like some of the other girls have, so she is quite happy to happen upon her in the hallways.

“Lady Lyanna, it is nice to see you. Please, who is your companion?” 

More importantly, Lady Jeyne is very pretty. The moment she sets her doe-like eyes on Ned, he blushes all the way to the tips of his ears and he does not blush prettily like Lady Jeyne does.

“This is Ned, my older brother.”

“Ne - Eddard Stark, my Lady.” 

Shy or not, Ned is still the son of the Warden of the North and Lyanna realises a Lady like Jeyne would take note of that part, especially since his aversion to leaving their chambers raised some attention. And she does, immediately taking the chance to make acquaintances even as Ned seems to shrink onto himself, fiddling with his shirt and twisting his ankle like a nervous stableboy.

Her dear, _awkward_ brother is so distracted, he doesn’t even notice when Lyanna slips away and takes off in the other direction.

* * *

It only takes this one time for her to realise how to get rid of Ned. It worked the first time and it works again for there is always someone walking around. It doesn’t matter if it's one of Lyanna’s peers, a knight or at some point even one of the Queen’s ladies - Lyanna will run up to them and greet them politely and with a shining wide smile introduce her enigmatic recluse of a brother. It gets to the point where, once Lyanna simply suggests taking a walk, he refuses to leave their chambers. 

“Fine. You stay here then and you can tell Mother where I went.”

He doesn’t like that but petulantly, he cannot object because his fear of making a fool of himself in front of yet another of Lyanna’s peers is greater than his fear of Mother.

There is more than one secret passage in Maegor’s Holdfast. Once she realizes that, Lyanna begins to seek them out purposefully and though she gets some odd looks for feeling around the walls, she cannot bring herself to truly care as so far, nobody has thought to approach her habit. 

The next passage she finds is under a staircase and leads to the Kitchen Keep. Lyanna is very fond of this find as it enables her to grab some pastries to keep as snacks on her exploration.

The other is on the second floor, near the royal apartments and requires you to enter what appears to be a storage room and remove a slab of stone on the floor to reveal a staircase. Out of all the passages she’s found, this one is the grandest and the strangest. It seems to lead up instead of down and the eventual destination is nothing more than some sort of hidden balcony.

Sheltered between the tower that made up the rookery and the building itself, the spot is well protected from sight. To the east, it’s open towards the stunning view of the mouth of the Blackwater Rush and the ships floating lazily outside of it. Lyanna takes her time soaking in every little detail.

Other than that, the place is not much of a find. Further inspection shows it’s not as much of a balcony as it’s an empty space between two buildings that inexplicably has a secret access. There are no flowers like on the other balconies, nor is there anything that’d protect her from falling right off the edge. Above it, ravens are lazily circling the rookery, gliding in the gentle wind that blows from the sea.

 _It’s beautiful,_ Lyanna thinks. Not quite Winterfell, but there is a quiet might in the sight before her. So far beyond where anyone can find it and with a breathtaking view, she vows she will return and make this her own space.

For the first time, she can easily see the splendor in the Red Keep, a hidden gem hidden safely above the songbirds, vipers and even dragons.

* * *

The next time she comes, the place is not nearly as deserted as she previously thought and she realizes a flaw in her decision; she has never accounted for anyone already knowing about it.

Having arrived early, skipping breakfast and stealing out before her brothers even woke out, she intended to observe her new hiding place, when the morning sun would rise over the bay. She would sit herself against the wall and munch on the sweets she’s borrowed from the kitchens.

Except when she arrives, another back is already leaning against the wall in the _exact_ spot she planned to occupy. 

With his long silver hair coiling lazily down his shoulders, the Prince is impossible to mistake for anyone else in the castle. His attention seems focused on the book in his lap and Lyanna knows she should take this opportunity to leave before he notices her but the stinging disappointment regarding _her sacred space_ lights up a rebellious spark.

 _So what if he’s the Prince? Nothing says I can’t also be here. He can’t just show up and decide he_ owns _the spot._ Conveniently, she ignores the fact that he does, in fact, somewhat own the spot and the castle in its entirety. 

She also cannot help but be curious, a dangerous impulse but one she cannot quiet down. She has seen Prince Rhaegar before, on the day that she arrived but afterwards he seemed to vanish behind the walls of Maegor’s Holdfast much like his royal father. Both of them were always surrounded by people but so far out of Lyanna’s circle they might as well be in another building. Even Brandon, who attends the same lessons in the training yard, does not have much to say about the Prince, which Lyanna feels stings him because her brother has been quite eager to make a companion out of Arthur Dayne but the new Sword of the Morning sticks to his royal companion with single-minded dedication.

But the opposite does not seem to be true because there is no Arthur Dayne to be found now, or even the Kingsguard for that matter. Prince Rhaegar is sitting alone, bathed in early morning light that nearly seems to make him glitter. Lyanna observes him quietly, taking in all the details to satisfy her curiosity. Silly as it seems, she feels as if she just spotted some kind of mythical creature.

The book he is reading now must be quite interesting though because he doesn’t notice her until she’s close enough that her shadow falls over his form. He flinches in surprise and then completely stills, willfully smothering down the reaction; their eyes meet and in a moment, their positions seem to reverse and she’s the one having to force herself into impassiveness.

Immediately, Lyanna realizes that she has not prepared what she’s going to say. Arms full of stolen pastries, she stands there as the silence stretches between the two of them awkwardly.

“Is the book good?” Is the first thing that comes to her mind and she bites the inside of her cheek. _Brilliant, you are smoother than a pebble._ “Your grace.” She adds belatedly.

He blinks one and then once again, taken aback first by her appearance and then by her sudden question.

“Yes.” He says finally with just a hint of uncertainty as if he’s not exactly sure what is going on or how to react. “Lady Stark, is it? I am… surprised to see you up here.” Surprised might be an understatement. Lyanna did, in fact, need to locate a very specific storage door, remove a slab of stone and climb over a hundred steps to get there.

“Just Lyanna is fine. Lady Stark is my mother.” Lyanna says reflexively, though she is both surprised and concerned he remembers her from that very brief introduction. _Does absolutely everyone in this castle know me by sight?_ “I found this place yesterday and wanted to come again and watch the view in the morning.”

“Ah,” It appears that Prince Rhaegar still has no idea how to properly react but he is nothing but determined to steer the conversation into more familiar waters, “The view is quite beautiful, isn’t it?” 

“Yes.” Lyanna repeats slowly, unsure of what to say. “That’s why I came.”

“I see.”

Silence once again falls over them and she takes that time to seat herself on the other end of the small terrace, careful not to stray too close to the edge.

“What is my prince doing up here though?” She dares to ask once she has enough of the awkwardness. _Terrible, just terrible. Why did the septa never say anything about a situation like this?_

“Reading.” He taps the pages of his book and tilts his head to the side, giving her a curious look.

 _Well duh,_ Lyanna thinks, biting her tongue. _Anyone could tell that much._

“Aren’t you supposed to read in the library? Or in your room?”

“The view here is better. And it’s easier to keep track of time when you are outside.” The Prince shrugs off the question easily and to that, Lyanna once again has nothing to say. At this point, she decides it can’t be that she’s the only one who is being terrible in this conversation - thus, it is not her problem anymore.

“Have fun then. Do you mind if I eat?” The pastries in her lap have been tempting her but she recalls at least _some_ of the manners her septas tried to instill in her.

“Not at all.” Biting into her sugared bagel, she washes out the sound of his perplexed amusement. 

“Do you want some?” Lyanna remembers to ask about halfway through, her voice coming out muffled due to her full mouth. _Is it weird to ask? Or is it rude not to? What if he asks where I got them? Is it treason to steal from the kitchens?_

“No thank you, my Lady.”

 _Your loss,_ she nearly says but settles for taking another bite, comforted by the fact he does not seem to question the presence of her pastries. While eating, she watches him frown as if debating something with himself, his book forgotten in his lap.

“I have to admit I’m curious how you found this passage. Not many know of it.” 

_Careful._

“I didn’t think anyone knew about it.” Lyanna admitted, swallowing down the bagel. “I found a trapdoor behind the tapestry on the ground floor a couple weeks ago and I thought there might be more.”

“I see.” Prince Rhaegar keeps his expression perfectly neutral but she gets the feeling he is not entirely pleased by her discovery. “There are many passages all over Maegor’s Holdfast. Nobody knows all of them and you won’t find them on any map. If you continue looking, you might find many more.”

That is exactly what Lyanna was planning to do anyway. Wiping her mouth with the back of her mouth, she tries not to look into his subtle suggestion. _What does it matter to him anyway? He probably knows a dozen places like this, he can find a different one if he is so bothered._

The small not-balcony is her treasure and the prize of her exploration - she will not give it up easily, not even to the Crown Prince.

The Prince does not stay for much longer. Logically, Lyanna knows Brandon’s training will be starting soon and they both attend the same morning lessons, so it comes as no surprise when he excuses himself and leaves.

Once he is gone, the atmosphere seems to improve because things got marginally more awkward once she finished off her haul of sweets and was left with nothing to do than to look around. He gave her the courtesy of pretending to be deeply immersed in his reading but she could see him tapping his fingers and struggling not to look her way.

All in all, the meeting left her quite perplexed. Even as she goes on with her day, a part of her remains curious. The Ladies speak of the Prince often and always appraisingly. He is a good rider, a good fighter and blessed with striking Valyrian features - Lyanna imagines he would get some attention even if it wasn’t for the crown on his head, though his title is clearly the main source of it. But with all the whispers and tales going around about him, their encounter felt strangely… normal. Like talking with Ned or Brandon or one of the stableboys at Winterfell.

Surrounded by drums and trumpets and the three-headed dragon banners, Prince Rhaegar seemed more like a figure from the songs than a real human being when the Royal Family was greeting their guests, but the short exchange has eroded all the mythical glamour from his persona. 

_He is just a person, like me._ Somehow, she gets the feeling most of her new acquaintances would disagree with that assessment.

* * *

The next morning, he is there again, sitting in the same spot but the book he is reading is different.

“Did you finish the other one already?” She can’t help but ask because yesterday it seemed like he was still far from finishing. 

“The maester who wrote it had a large handwriting.” He sounds amused. “I see you haven’t tired of the view yet, my Lady.”

Lyanna can’t help but scoff, sticking out her lower lip in wordless defiance. _My spot,_ she reminded herself. _I don’t see any dragon banners here._

“I like it up here.” There is more she could say - how she isn’t allowed into the Queen’s garden and how the godswood is often crowded by people, how in this strange castle, far from home, she longs for a space that she could truly call her own. Instead, she leaves it at that, aware that the world isn’t interested in the whims and feelings of a little girl.“I don’t really understand why someone would build a secret passage to this place, but I’m glad they did.”

Something sad settles on the Prince’s handsome face then, an expression that doesn’t look out of place on him. Much like his mother, he seems veiled with grief.

“Maegor built it, long ago. I’m sure you’ve heard of the tale though it’s not a pretty one - how he had every man who had worked on the building executed so he would be the only person to know its secrets. I believe this was a secret entrance, rather than exit, back then but that was when we had dragons. Now it serves no purpose.”

“Could a dragon really land here?” Lyanna wonders aloud, tiptoeing as close to the edge as she dares to. The spot does not seem that large and she’s seen Balerion’s skull in the Great Hall. Squinting, she tries to envision the beast squeezing itself between the walls, pitch black scales scraping against the walls. _It’d knock down the rookery for sure._

“Who knows. The younger ones probably could, or maybe the rider could jump off.”

“That’d be stupid.” She tells him. “You could easily fall down and get impaled on the spikes. If you’re going to risk your life you might as well go through the main door.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“And what if you had to enter undetected?” 

“If you came with a dragon, you already failed at that.”

For some strange reason, he seems to find that funny though one could hardly tell. If Lyanna wasn’t so used to inexpressive faces, she would have been very disoriented - fortunately, spending most of her life with Ned and Father prepared her well.

“You better hope Maegor’s ghost doesn’t hear you judging his design choices. Your boldness won’t help you when your mirror starts weeping blood and a hundred rats scurry across your bed.”

Lyanna squints.

“That doesn’t happen, my prince is making it up.” She’s sat through enough of Old Nan’s tales, thank you very much. Some old wives tales about Maegor the Cruel won’t scare her. “There’s no such thing as ghosts anyway. I asked the maester. He said dead men make corpses, not spirits.”

“How can he be certain? There are no experiments that can prove either way.” He points to the book. “Maester Reyland wrote about it, but his studies were rejected by the Citadel. After publishing his only work, he died quite mysteriously.”

Against her better judgement, Lyanna found herself intrigued.

“How so?”

“Well…” Prince Rhaegar paused meaningfully. “I haven’t actually gotten to that part yet.”

 _Let me read in peace,_ he might as well have said but once her curiosity has been piqued, Lyanna could not rest until she got the answer. 

“He probably just drank too much, if he thought he was seeing ghosts.” She decides. “Old Nan tells stories like that all the time and you think there’s no explanation but then the Maester always has one and it all makes sense.”

He does not seem convinced.

* * *

Lyanna does not sleep easy that night. Her dreams are full of bleeding mirrors, hungry mice and old dead kings. Mother notices and feels her forehead worriedly.

“Are you feeling alright? What did I tell you about skulking around all day long, this isn’t-”

“-I know it’s not Winterfell.” Lyanna cuts in, familiar with the lecture. “Mother, have you heard of Maegor’s curse before? Or someone’s mirrors weeping blood?”

Lyarra pauses then laughs and her laughter fills the room like a hundred bells.

“Now who told you that old wives tale?”

“It isn’t real, is it? Ghosts don’t exist?”

“Sweet child, it has been two hundred years since Maegor the Cruel walked these halls. If his spirit still roamed around, someone would have noticed by now.” Mother shakes her head. “Did Brandon try to scare you again? You know you shouldn’t listen to him…”

She shows up late that morning so she has the place all for herself which would have pleased her before, but now she has something to prove.

When he returns from his training, Brandon gets into trouble for scaring her - he denies it fiercely but he’s done it enough times that Mother no longer believes him and Lyanna keeps her mouth shut. An instinct tells her to keep the truth a secret because her family would surely ruin everything.

“This isn’t fair!” Brandon complains. “I didn’t even do anything, you _know_ that, so why didn’t you tell her it wasn’t me?”

“I didn’t tell on you when you convinced Benjen there’s a grumpkin in his closet.” She reminds him, toying with her hair. She’s too lazy to braid it today so it spills loosely over her shoulders. “It’s simple payback.”

Her brother groans. “That’s not how it works! I was going to watch Ser Arthur train and now I have to be _here_.”

“He wouldn’t have noticed you even if you were there, you aren’t missing out on anything.” Lyanna is unsympathetic. 

“It’s not about that! Swordsmanship is art, you wouldn’t get it!” Brandon stops his foot.

 _Wouldn’t I,_ Lyanna thinks resentfully because she would have loved to watch the Sword of the Morning show off his skill but the septa was very clear on the fact she should not bother the boys at the training yard.

* * *

“Did you find out how the maester died?” She asks the Prince the next morning.

“Lady Lyanna, I thought you might not show up.” 

_You wish,_ Lyanna thinks. 

“You got my brother in trouble, you know. I had bad dreams and he was the one blamed and then he couldn’t go moon over Ser Arthur at the training yard.”

He clears his throat and if she was less observant, she might have missed the guilty way he looked to the side.

“My apologies. I did not mean to scare you.”

“Oh, you didn’t scare me, your grace.” Lyanna waves it off, puffing her chest with bravado. “We have far scarier tales back in the North. But you did leave me in suspense about how that maester died and I don’t want to read the book to find out.”

There’s a challenging smile on her lips and his face softens in amusement of his own.

“I apologise for that as well, then. He died after locking himself in his bedroom from the inside, with marks of strangulation even though there was nobody with him who could have done it. His steward blamed Lady Alys Rivers.”

Lyanna settles herself carefully on the floor, folding her legs beneath her.

“So I was right then, it was not a ghost.”

“I’d say a witch still counts.”

“It does not. Everyone knows offending a living person is risky but you tried to convince me to be careful of offending a dead man. So it’s not the same and I was right.”

He cannot argue against that and Lyanna discovers that he is noble enough to admit defeat, which is more than she could say about Brandon.

“But if your grace is interested in scary stories about rats and curses, there is the story of the Rat Cook from the Wall.” Lyanna remembers how Old Nan told the story; lowering her voice and speaking with an ominous steady tempo that wove the horror so deeply into the words, it felt as if the room itself had chilled.

“I’m not familiar with the story.” The Prince admits and it all Lyanna needs to begin, drawing into her childhood memories.

Somehow, though she cannot tell when or why, that becomes part of her routine. Initially, her plan was to simply repay him for attempting to scare her but Prince Rhaegar was more interested than he was scared.

He is, as it turns out, fond of old stories and songs. He likes to use them in his own music sometimes or ponder on their mysteries. When Lyanna recounts the many stories Old Nan would entertain the Stark children with, he listens attentively.

Sometimes, he tells her a tale of his own, some of which she is familiar with but many of which she does not know. Targaryens have a rich history, full of magic and terrible, unspeakable things and Old Valyria before them was even worse.

It’s a silly competition to have but in all her time in King’s Landing, this is the closest thing to having a normal conversation with someone other than her family that Lyanna has experienced in a long while. Oftentimes, they end up discussing something completely different from the initial topic, from their lives to court gossip. Gossiping, she finds, is a lot more interesting when it’s focused on things that are actually scandalous, rather than on listing names of minor Lords that she does not recognise.

“How do you even know all of that?” She asks him one day after he tells her about a brawl between the cook and the captain of the guard after the latter accused the former of spitting in his food.

He leans back against the bricks, his book of the day lying unopened to the side.

“You’ll see once you’ve been here for a year or so - they say the walls have ears and with time you learn where to listen. I’ve been living in the Red Keep my whole life so I have some experience.”

* * *

Perhaps the most endearing is the fact Prince Rhaegar makes it up to Brandon. Her brother comes back practically walking on clouds one day after Ser Arthur personally invited him for a spar.

“I lost of course, but it was the sweetest loss I’ve ever had. You should have been there, it was so intense! Ser Arthur is so quick you can barely see him move and then he told me I have great reflexes!” He tells her and Ned and anyone who would listen. Mother seems to be pleased too and all three children are glad to see that. After news came from the North about an outbreak of the Shivering Fever, she has been growing increasingly restless and worried but Brandon’s social breakthrough brings her something to distract herself with.

When Lyanna brings it up to the Prince the next morning, he surprises her by looking away, almost shy.

“I had nothing to do with that. Your brother must have seemed like a suitable sparring partner.” He insists and that's how Lyanna learns that he is, in fact, a big fat liar.

* * *

It crosses her mind after a while how he is always there before her. Or that she does not know if he comes to their spot at any other time at all; Lyanna herself prefers the mornings and some evenings, keeping herself busy with duties and exploring throughout the day, but she only ever sees him before his morning lessons.

“How come you come here every morning?” She asks one day. 

His answer is measured and less straightforward than she assumed.

“I’ve been doing it for years now. I don’t get a lot of time for myself throughout the day - I can’t afford to fail at my duties so there is no sense of complaining about that, it’s just how things are. But I’m usually not needed that early in the morning so what I do then is up to me. Until you, nobody else knew about this place so it ensured me I’d have peace.”

A terrible thought occurs to Lyanna then and thinking back on his attitude the first couple days, she kicks herself for not thinking of it earlier. 

“Am I bothering you?”

“No, I didn’t mean to imply that.” He’s backtracking now, snapping out of his melancholy resignation. Lyanna does not believe him and he can clearly see that.

“I’m being honest. I can’t deny that I find entertaining people to be tiring. It’s never simple talking, everyone wants something and I need to be aware of how much I’m giving away, I -” He stops himself, shaking his head. “But it’s not all people. Talking to you isn’t a chore - a good book or a fun conversation, either way I’m starting the day well with something _I_ want to do and that’s what makes it different.”

“Oh.” Is all she can say to that, head spinning. She feels her cheeks heat up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to complain. Of course, the Red Keep is full of lovely people and-”

He might be panicking now, regretting being that honest but she tunes him out.

“You aren’t bothering me either.” Her palms are sweaty and she feels carried away by the moment. 

“I’m glad to hear that.” With anyone else, she would have assumed it to be teasing but Prince Rhaegar says it so somberly, as if he is honestly relieved that she doesn’t mind his company. The more Lyanna learns about him, the more she feels like beneath his princely distinguishment, he is simply terribly, terribly lonely and that makes her sad for him.

“So we’re friends now, then.” She decides boldly. That would make him the first friend she’s made since leaving Winterfell which is an odd thought. 

_I’ve befriended blacksmiths and stableboys before, why not a prince?_

* * *

When Father’s letter arrives at last, informing them that both he and Benjen are safe but that Mother’s old maid caught the illness, there is a palpable relief in the air. Even with all her burdens and obligations, Mother seems lighter.

Lyanna has a strange feeling like she’s just avoided some terrible fate.

Declaring herself Prince Rhaegar’s friend doesn’t really change anything but it makes her feel better and a little less lonely in that big old castle. When septa Rianne yells or the other girls smother their giggles with their sleeves it’s a little more bearable but also a little more frustrating.

On one hand, it’s reassuring to be appreciated by at least one other person and Lyanna clings to that sometimes to remind herself that she is not defective, that just because they don’t like her, it doesn’t mean nobody will.

On the other, it’s increasingly hard to keep her tongue behind her teeth when they sigh about the Prince. _He’d never like you,_ she wants to say but she knows it’s petty. Still, she cannot help but wonder how they’d treat her differently if they knew she had _his_ approval. Sitting still and remaining silent feels a lot like being the bigger person - essentially worth it, but very difficult. 

They’ve never outwardly agreed to be friends in secret or anything like that; the simple truth is, their daily lives don’t really mix. But a part of Lyanna that is increasingly vocal wants to keep it that way. She is not naive enough to think that everyone would make it their business if it was known and the thought of being discussed and recognised makes her skin crawl.

She doesn’t want the people of King’s Landing butting into her life. The secret spot, Prince Rhaegar - she’d like to keep those things private, a safe refuge from the ever-changing world around her. It makes her giddy to think of it all like some secret adventure.

He laughs when she tells him that.

“It would be a good song. ‘The Tale of the Snooping Wolf’ mayhaps?”

The teasing falls flat because Lyanna unironically likes the sound of that.

* * *

Unlike Lyanna, Prince Rhaegar is not as forthcoming with his true likes and dislikes but she still learns a lot about him simply through expressing her own. He doesn’t mind it if she rambles, sitting back and occasionally agreeing or encouraging her along with seemingly infinite patience.

In his own way, he says a lot, just not directly with words. Lyanna doesn’t mind that; she would rather have him say little and mean it than the other way around, the way people in King’s Landing seemed to prefer.

He doesn’t judge her either but despite that, she’s still been hesitant to tell him about how she and Benjen used to spar with sticks and all her wildest dreams and wishes connected with that. For all his worth, in her mind he is still very much a member of the Southern court. There’s breaking conventions and then there’s being a woman interested in swordplay.

Ultimately, her desire to have a friend on her side who understands that part of her overcomes her fears of rejection.

“We should truly trade places then,” is what he has to say, “for I don’t care for that.”

That’s hard for her to wrap her head around. She would do anything to be able to learn it so it’s hard to imagine someone having that privilege and not liking it, but at the same time she can understand what it's like to not enjoy something you’re supposed to.

“Septa Rianne would _love_ you. You’d probably never say anything wrong, ever. I bet even your stitches would be perfect.” The mental image she paints for herself makes her laugh, much to his amusement.

“My master-at-arms would probably enjoy training you more than me. He’s always talking about the ‘fighting spirit’.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s hard to have fighting spirit when you both have tourney swords and they’re scared their head is going to roll if they hit you.”

“I wouldn’t be scared to hit you, if we were sparring.” Lyanna tells him earnestly and that makes him laugh. He does a lot of smiling, even when he is sad, but laughing is rarer so it always makes her feel good when he does.

“Appreciated.” 

She pouts, disappointed because she’s been hoping he’d be willing to practice with her like Benjen used to at Winterfell but she gets the feeling it’d take a lot of coaxing to get him to agree to do that in his spare time.

 _One day,_ she tells herself.

* * *

He tells her of a couple more secret passages and warns her of some she should not attempt.

“Definitely don’t go looking for the one that’s near the first floor lavatories.”

“Why not?”

“Well,” he grimaces, “I’m not supposed to say so keep this a secret, but it goes straight to the King’s bedroom.”

“Ah,” Lyanna says intelligently, scratching her chin, “I can see how that’d be a problem.”

* * *

The Queen has a lot in common with her son, Lyanna observes. Mother made her come to this particular tea party in the garden as the other Ladies also brought their children but in such distinguished and polite company, the more doesn’t make it any merrier for Lyanna.

She’s not meant to speak, just sit there quietly and look every inch the pleasant highborn girl her parents brought her to the South to become. Her pretty velvet dress is itchy and all too warm for the weather so she sweats and bounces her knee and nibbles on biscuits, praying for the event to end soon. 

The garden is pretty at least. The sun shines through the vibrant green leaves and dozens of roses grow in neat lines along the pathways. Lyanna wants more than anything to climb from her chair and enjoy the flowers but she’s not allowed to; the Queen’s garden is private.

Sitting still is a challenge in itself so to distract herself, she watches the star of the event.

Queen Rhaella Targaryen is beautiful. Her hair shines in sunlight like molten silver and her eyes are a gentle lilac. She’s wearing a high-collared dress today and many of the Ladies have sought to imitate that; Lyanna would bet anything that all of them are regretting that now that the sun has come out.

But there’s something fragile about the woman that she can’t help but notice. Her skin is nearly sickly pale and she cannot fully conceal the dark circles around her eyes. Grief, Lyanna recognises. A different breed of sadness than the one that haunts her son but it weighs on her all the same. No matter now she smiles, she gets the feeling that the Queen gets to enjoyment from this event either.

After all, it has been less than half of the year since Prince Aegon has died in the cradle, the main reason that her mother has been summoned to the service in the first place. _A most unfortunate tragedy_ , the people whispered. _Everyone believed that at least this child would make it._

She’s never talked about it with Rhaegar but at that moment, watching the grieving woman in front of her put on a fake smile and courteously reply to some Lady’s inquiry, she cannot help but notice his absence.

* * *

She brings it up the next time and immediately regrets it as he seems to almost physically recoil. 

“Things are complicated.”

He tells that over and over, with stubborn attachment of someone who’s made up his mind. At first Lyanna thinks she simply picked the wrong day but something tells her he wouldn’t have been willing to discuss this regardless.

“I don’t have the time to attend tea parties with my mother.”

“I’m not saying you always need to come. I just feel like she’d be happy to see you there.” Lyanna defends, “She seems so sad.”

Prince Rhaegar touches his cheek lightly, a deep sorrow settling in his eyes. 

“She has every reason to be.” He doesn’t elaborate further but he doesn’t need to. The whole of the Red Keep is aware of the Queen’s struggles and her disgrace. Lyanna thinks of the two septas that follow her everywhere. _The King’s orders._

“She also has some reasons _not_ to be.”

He frowns, looking at the hand resting in his lap as if it personally wronged him.

“She doesn’t want to be coddled, she’s prideful in her own way.” A sigh. “I don’t want to remind her of my brother. Or the ones before. If I come to sit there with the rest of you, it won’t bring any of them back.”

Lyanna worries her bottom lip. This is out of her expertise and every part of her tells her she should not meddle but -

-if she was grieving, she’d want her family with her. She thinks of how pleased Mother was when Brandon was excited over meeting Ser Arthur Dayne, even though she was worrying about Father and Brandon at the time.

There are things Lyanna might not understand but she understands family.

* * *

It takes some time to sway him. She can tell that he’s letting her talk more for politeness sake than actual consideration but eventually, her words do begin to start to sink in. Lyanna can’t say he’s optimistic but at the very least, she manages to convince that there is no harm in it.

Thus, on some sunny day, the Queen and a small group of her ladies gather in the garden while the servants bring out a beautiful harp with silver strings. Lyanna doesn’t have much time to admire it though because she’s grouped in a small choir group with the rest of the girls. Rather than a solo performance, the Prince decided to involve the other children too.

“Something everyone can take part in and enjoy.” He said and it was so hard to even get him there that she didn’t object further. It was a sweet idea anyhow.

Lyanna is given bells and directed in the front left corner. She can’t help but tap her leg nervously; this is not the best time to think about how she skipped out on her music lessons to catch butterflies in the godswood. 

Her fears turn out to be mainly unfounded. Once the Prince slides his long fingers over the harp and the singing begins, it’s very easy for her to vanish into the swarm of noise. The melody is simple - it has to be since they didn’t practice. 

Some of the girls are trying way too hard. Lyanna can hear Jeyne Swann chase the high notes even over the chorus and there’s a couple others who follow her lead. She can also clearly hear the Prince, though he at least sounds natural. Perhaps, she thinks, she'd simply recognise his voice anywhere, in any chorus. The thought appeals to her.

Smiling stiffly, Lyanna keeps her mouth shut and focuses on the bells.

Once the song is finished and the gathered women are done clapping and offering praises, the Queen takes notice of that fact. The woman seems happier than she’s ever seen her as she directs her son to a seat at her side. So close together, the two of them look even more alike.

“Lady Lyanna, I cannot help but notice that you did not sing. I hope you did not feel pressured to participate.”

Lyanna pauses from her bouncing stroll to where her mother is waiting, not expecting to be addressed. _Why me in particular?_ But it seems like there is no real reason; the Queen simply happened to spot her.

“Not at all, your Majesty.” She bows slightly like septa Rianne taught her. “I abstained simply for your convenience. My brother says I’m sooner to catch a fly than a note.”

 _Was that rude?_ She wonders when the Queen raises her eyebrows but her panic is short-lived when Prince Rhaegar makes a small noise and slaps a hand over his mouth, something which might have escaped notice if he was literally anyone else. Unfortunately, he was born to be the unwilling centre of attention of every room he enters. His reaction is the only cue the others need to hesitantly giggle.

“Rhaegar.” His mother scolds with open surprise. “Behave, won’t you? What got into you? Lady Lyanna, I apologise in his name.”

“I apologise.” He echoes though he’s clearly still amused, a strange boyish look on his delicate features. _Traitor,_ she thinks because she’s sung some Northern songs to him before per his request and he hadn’t once mentioned anything about her lack of talent but it is clear now that he _thought_ it.

Lyanna cannot find it in herself to be too bothered - at least she gets the sense that for once people are laughing with her and not at her but she cannot stop her impulse.

“It’s okay, your Majesty. I can stop by the training yard one day and then we’ll be even.”

There’s a beat of silence as the crows processes her implications and then Mother gasps.

“Your Majesty, I am so sorry. Lyanna, you will apologise _this instant._ ”

Lyanna winces. She is perfectly aware that everyone is definitely judging her now. At least a couple girls she remembers from her lessons look completely scandalised - not that it would take much to scandalise them.

“Lady Stark it’s alright.” The Prince waves it off, unbothered and still grinning stupidly. Lyanna is fond of his grin. “I am not offended. My Lady is welcome to stop by - I shall try my best not to disappoint.”

The Queen clears her throat. Even though she sits still as a statue, with her hands clasped in her lap, she looks utterly bewildered.

“Yes, don’t apologise Lady Lyarra. Your daughter has a sharp tongue but it’ll only do her well in life.”

* * *

Mother does not seem to agree. In private, Lyanna receives one of the worst scoldings of her life - and a reminder that she is not the only she-wolf with a sharp tongue in that household. 

“What possessed you to say that? You’re so lucky that the Prince wasn’t offended! Gods help us, child, you’d drag the entire family down if you could. If the King was there-”

Even Brandon and Ned have fled the premises like the cowards they are, unwilling to be present for their mother’s anger.

“-I should write to your father to depart as soon as possible and take you home.” At that moment, Lyanna can’t help to think that Mother looks scarier than even the King.

“Please don’t! I’ll behave, I promise I will!” 

She could not bear being torn away from everything she knew once again, not when there is now something that makes her excited and eager to get out of bed every morning. She’ll see Benjen and Father again, she knows that in her soul, but she feels as if she were torn away now, she might never see Prince Rhaegar again in her life. 

“Oh, so _now_ you want to stay? Should I ask what made you change your mind?”

Shying beneath the sharpness of her tone, Lyanna ducks her head.

“I’ve just - I’ve gotten to know the people. And made some friends and got used to the place.”

Mother clicks her tongue in irritation but she relents on that line of attack.

* * *

Though Mother’s anger passes quickly, the septa is far less forgiving. She wasn’t even present that day but the way the other girls keep talking about how she “insulted the Prince” it is no surprise that even the sour old woman has heard about it.

Lyanna knows she’s done no insult in truth so she shouldn’t let it get to her but she cannot help herself. It feels like all of the sudden septa Rianne feels like she has a reason to be harsh to her and now nothing Lyanna ever does is right.

“A blacksmith would make neater stitches. If only your hands were as nimble as your wit.” 

Some of the girls giggle at that and Lyanna bites her cheek and makes sure to remember each of their faces.

“I pity your future husband.”

 _I pity the Seven, if you are the best they can get in a servant,_ she wants to say but the promise she made to Mother is sharp on her mind.

* * *

Accompanied by Brandon, Lyanna does eventually make true on her statement and pays a visit to the training yard one morning.

“I _did_ say I’d come.” She assures her brother. “So it’d be rude not to show up now.”

Brandon does not look convinced but he has his own motivations to come along and they have everything to do with one Sword of the Morning. If this were Ned, Lyanna would tease him about being a blushing maiden but unlike Ned, her oldest brother has some bite to him so she smartly keeps those thoughts private.

Contrary to her nervous concern, nobody tries to stop them when they cross the yard to where Willem Darry, the master-at-arms is carefully watching over the older boys and their practice. The Kingsguard present, Ser Gerold, simply gives them a glance.

Ser Arhur is everything they say he is, that much Lyanna can tell even from just watching how he moves. There is a deadly fluidity to every dodge and every blow that reminds her of a viper’s strike. Her brother nearly bounces on his heels and only stops short of pulling on her sleeve with excitement. 

Lyanna’s focus is elsewhere though. Prince Rhaegar, she finds, is not nearly as terrible as he led her to believe. Compared to Ser Arthur, he falls behind but she feels like he’d do just fine against anyone else. When he spots her, he gives her a quick wave before focusing back on his match, with a little more vigour to him than before.

* * *

“I should probably thank you, my Lady.” Arthur Dayne tells her cheekily when they are introduced. “Were you here every day, my Prince might be more inclined to do his best.”

It has been, by all accounts, a decently even fight until the end when the older boy knocked the other’s tourney sword straight out of his hands and sent it clattering across the floor, much to Brandon’s vocal amazement.

Prince Rhaegar scoffs but he’s too busy tidying himself to say anything. There is dirt in his hair and he looks uncharacteristically disheveled and with the frenzied way he’s smoothing his tunic, Lyanna suddenly feels like she can tell why he does not enjoy his lessons very much.

“I couldn’t go back on my word, could I?” She blinks innocently. “I would gladly be an inspirational audience if it pleased his grace.”

She doesn’t get a direct answer but she finds that nobody will stop her and Brandon if they pass by once his own lessons are done. It’s somewhat unconventional and Lyanna is sure that sooner or later, there’ll be rumors flying around but she does not care.

Even if she cannot participate, just watching the matches is entertaining on its own in a way that watching Brandon, Ned and the younger boys could never hope to match.

“If it brings my Lady some enjoyment to watch then who am I to keep you out? My pride is not so fragile that I could not handle being laughed at.” The Prince tells her one morning when it’s just the two of them. Lyanna loves him all the more at that moment.

“I would never laugh if you were truly doing poorly.” She has gotten to this conclusion from years of bickering with her siblings; teasing is only teasing when everyone involved knows it’s not true.

He smiles so gently she feels like she might have imagined it.

“I know.”

* * *

Much like she assumed, her watching those lessons soon joins in with the rest of the gossip; the septa doubles down on assuring her she shall never find a husband. Her little secret is slipping through her fingers day by day but Lyanna finds like she no longer cares.

The days seem brighter lately. Ser Arthur is funny and never minds showing her some tricks and the other boys are all perfectly polite to her; possibly only because the Prince is there but she ignores that part. They’ll explain things when she asks and they like it when she cheers for them.

Even Brandon doesn’t have the time to try and tell her that women don’t belong in the training yard because he is too busy having the time of his life. They’re locked in a stalemate, the two of them. As much as she knows that her brother is itching to be smothering and protective, he is riding on her acquaintanceship with Prince Rhaegar to be allowed to join in so he can never bring himself to do anything about it.

“Is that Dawn?” He spies one day, trying to tone down his excitement. Ser Arthur was showing him a way to block an attack by a spear and Lyanna was so occupied memorising the steps she completely missed that the sword at his side is not the same as usual.

“It is indeed.” He unsheathes it and holds it to their eye-level and Lyanna inches closer to see it better. 

Dawn is anything they say and more; something in her chest does a funny little dance and she thinks to herself how she’s never seen anything quite as beautiful as that sword.

“...Ice is longer though.” Brandon comments, determined not to appear as slack-yawed as he feels. Lyanna subtly steps on his foot.

_Prideful ass._

“Ah, but as they say, it's not the size that matters.” Ser Arthur winks and laughter practically explodes from her brother’s mouth. Some of the boys who’ve joined in to take a look at the ancestral sword chuckle too and Lyanna feels like she’s being left out on some grand joke.

“I don’t get it.”

“You’re a girl, you’re not supposed to get it.” Brandon dismisses her, still grinning and that just makes her irritated.

Lyanna turns around to face Prince Rhaegar and makes a silent plea. In the small group, he’s one of the few people who appear every inch unimpressed - surely, he will extend a hand in aid.

But alas, he simply looks away.

“Arthur can explain it to you. He’s dug that hole, he can lie in it.” He decides, somehow managing to look down on the other boy even though the knight is nearly a whole head taller.

“...don’t put me on the spot here.” Ser Arthur coughs awkwardly, resheathing Dawn. 

The Prince never joins in on the tea parties again but Lyanna can see the Queen looking at her queerly from time to time even so. She isn’t sure how to feel about that.

For all her fragile beauty, Rhaella Targaryen is hard to read. Her shapely lips are always curved in a gentle smile but her eyes aren’t always sad. Sometimes, Lyanna feels like she can see flickers of fear and anger in the soft lilac but she can never be sure.

She never dares to ask but still she wonders; what it is that is keeping the mother and son apart? They love each other dearly, that much she is certain of, but not in the way Mother loves her. If she didn’t know Prince Rhaegar to the extent she’s come to know him, she would think that the love of dragons must be some cold, terrible thing.

_But it isn’t._

She knows this because she has never once felt cold in his company. Even when he seems tired and sad, there is still something that draws her in - like a light she cannot quite look away from. Nor does she want to.

* * *

Mother is talking about finding a match for Brandon.

“There is still plenty of time, of course, but it doesn’t hurt to start paying attention to some of the suitable girls your age.”

He doesn’t dare to voice his complaints then but in the sunlit training yard he is very vocal. Over the noise of swords clashing against each other and men grunting, his whining is nearly drowned out.

“Such is the life of a firstborn son.” Ser Arthur consoles sympathetically. He has grown quite fond of Brandon in his own way - they happen to share the same sense of humour, a fact that is not exactly flattering for Ser Arthur when one considers that Brandon is an 11 year old boy.

Lyanna doesn’t like the sound of that statement because something tells her that it doesn’t even matter if Ned is older, as the firstborn daughter she will be the next one to be considered.

“I didn’t think they’d start that early.” Brandon mutters, kicking the dust petulantly. 

“The sooner the better, is the logic. Highborn ladies of good breeding and considerable wealth are in short supply.”

“Aren’t you a little old not to be married then?” Lyanna can’t help but ask because Ser Arthur is older than all of them. He isn’t even ugly by any means and when one considers his charisma and skill with a sword, the women of the Red Keep consider him second only to the Prince.

By all accounts, and in Lyanna’s honest opinion, he should be someone’s handsome young husband by now. Unless his stupid jokes somehow repelled every woman he got close to.

He laughs off her question good-naturedly.

“That won’t be a problem for me. I’m going to join the Kingsguard.” He says that with such confidence that she does not doubt for a moment that he will, in truth, one day be a member of the Kingsguard.

“I wish I could join the Kingsguard.” The idea appeals to her like few things have before. There would be no marriage cloaks, no wedding bed - just a future of protecting the Royal family with a sword in her hand. 

She chews on the inside of her cheeks and sneaks a glance at Prince Rhaegar. The sun plays with the silver of his hair and her face feels warm. Staying by his side for all of her life, never to be separated would be a wonderful dream.

_I wouldn’t mind that job at all._

“A little short for a Kingsguard, aren’t you?” Ser Arthur laughs but the Prince is more generous.

“When I’m the King, I’d gladly make you a Kingsguard if you wanted to.” He tells her solemnly.

“You mean it?” Lyanna feels her smile grow.

“Don’t be silly, what could you even do? You don’t even have training. You couldn’t defend him from an angry duck let alone an assassin.” Brandon rolls his eyes but they both ignore him.

“Or maybe we should have a Queensguard instead. The Queen should have protection of her own, I think. There are things that the Kingsguard cannot do.”

Lyanna scowls, suddenly not liking that idea anymore.

“Ew, no, I’m not going to protect your stupid wife, do that yourself.”

Ser Arthur snickers. 

“Rejected once again, your grace.”

* * *

“Can I give you some advice?” The Prince asks out of the sudden one day. He is more melancholy than usual that morning so Lyanna amuses herself counting the ships and lets him read in peace. They do that sometimes, when he is in such a mood - she doesn’t mind it because he does the same for her.

“When your parents start to think about your own future matches, don’t settle for just anything. Don’t marry someone who yells or raises his voice. Cruelty needs just the tiniest seeds to grow.”

Lyanna is taken aback by that.

“I don’t think I’ll have that much of a choice.”

“Even if it’s just a little bit.” There is a sad look on his face. “Marriage can be quite a prison. Warn your brother too.”

* * *

Even without proper training, Lyanna feels like she is learning. She brings a stick to her secret spot beneath the rookery tower and goes through the motions in the afternoon until her body learns to remember them. It usually leaves her sweaty and tired which makes Mother angry with her but burning through her vast energy reserves makes her feel less restless. In turn, even the more boring activities like embroidery and attending the Queen’s events becomes easier.

“I miss riding.” She complains to anyone that’d listen.. In King’s Landing she couldn’t go on a ride even if she wanted to - the city and the surrounding hills aren’t safe enough for a lone girl and she’d rather rot inside than go riding with a company of slowpokes. 

She wishes she could actually join the boys in the yard but for now simply observing is enough.

The days go by quickly like that, far quicker than they’ve ever seemed to before. She spends her mornings chatting and watching the ships sail across the bay, then she returns to have breakfast with her family and accompanies Brandon to his lessons. After that, the Prince and Ser Arthur usually accompany them to their chambers in the Maidenvault and Lyanna changes clothes and prepares for whatever activities she has planned for the day.

The couple days in the week when she has her lessons with the septa and the other girls are a pain but even that cannot destroy her mood; it does not matter how much the septa yells when all the things that actually _do_ matter are going this well.

Mother is very pleased with her too. When she isn’t busy she tends to fuss over Lyanna, braiding ribbons in her hair and ordering new pretty dresses. 

“Because you’ve grown so much.” She explains but it doesn’t sound quite right. Whatever the case, Lyanna likes getting pretty new things but she dislikes the fact that she cannot do many activities in them. Accidentally tearing an old woolen dress while running through the hallways is no concern but just the thought of damaging any of the new ones makes her skin crawl.

_Mother would be so angry._

There are few things that get her to behave quite like the prospect of facing her mother’s anger.

* * *

After all bouts of sunshine, the clouds must roll and this time the shock comes in the form of the King.

Lyanna is sitting on a bench next to someone’s discarded chestplate and watching Ser Willem yell at the squires who were slacking off when Aerys Targaryen appears, flanked by two members of the Kingsguard and a golden-haired man who could only be his Hand, Lord Tywin Lannister.

 _Ser Barristan the Bold,_ Lyanna recognises, _and Prince Lewyn Martell._

She has not seen the King since that very first day more than half of the year ago now but her curiosity is short-lived. He is handsome, that much cannot be denied, but there is a haughtiness about him that makes his beauty seem dull. His crown glitters on his brow and his clothes are rich and red, his cloak pluming behind him as he walks.

Like a dark cloud, the tension he brings with him spills over the yard, quieting all conversation and stilling all movement. Even Brandon sneaks back to her side, cowed by the sudden arrival.

“Your Majesty,” the master-at-arms bows deeply. “May I be of assistance?”

“Be at ease. I have simply come to observe.” Even this neutral statement feels charged. “I would wish to see how my son is progressing.”

It’s nothing short of an order. There is a flurry of movement as all the other boys remove themselves to the sides, leaving only Rhaegar and Arthur Dayne in the middle. The two stand tensely, bound by some unspoken agreement.

“The Sword of the Morning, then?” The King acknowledges the choice. “I have heard good things about you, Ser Arthur. Please think of your future and give us a good fight.”

Ser Arthur bows, the tourney sword held in a white-knuckled grip.

“I shall do my best, your Majesty.”

The duel that follows is nothing like the usual. King Aerys did not waste time and neither does the Prince, getting into the stance with a determined expression.

Lyanna chews on her lip, leaning forward in her seat. 

_I’m not even up there and I’m nervous._

She wonders how anyone could bear this presence on a daily basis and feels bad for Queen Rhaella. 

With pounce, Prince Rhaegar starts the duel from the offense, trying to catch Ser Arthur off-guard. It doesn’t work; the Dornishman has incredible reflexes and he sidesteps easily.

Usually, one of them would go on defense for the sake of practice; they liked to exchange roles that way. But not this time.

Lyanna watches as Ser Arthur sweps in with a series of quick, brutal slashes that Prince Rhaegar can just barely dodge. There is enough power in the blows that he needs to use both hands to deflect, which puts him at a disadvantage against Arthur who could easily parry with one hand only.

 _It’s unfair,_ Lyanna thinks, _Arthur is older, taller and stronger._

But despite the hopelessness of this endeavour, the Prince would not give up. The yard is silent except for the clanging of swords as he struggles to deflect or dodge a blow after a blow. There is sweat on his brow and everyone is watching, waiting for the slip-up that will doom him.

_He’s going to tire himself out if he keeps doing that. The only way he can hope to win this is if he finishes early._

Lyanna glances at the King, who is watching from the sidelines. There’s a hard look on his face, lip thinned in what is almost a scowl. 

_Come on!_ She encourages internally, not daring to voice it out loud. _Just finish it!_

Her hopes die as minutes pass and the match still isn’t over. At this point even Ser Arthur is breathing heavily and the strength of his blows is waning - not that it amounts to much because he still moves with deadly speed and precision. Lyanna can’t see his face but she can feel the grimness seep from his body language.

 _Of course. This is his future on the line too._ The Sword of the Morning is a pretty title but it comes with a heavy reputation to uphold. He might not be the firstborn son to inherit Starfall, but he inherited burdens of his own still.

And not even a blind man could miss the way the King voiced his request. He had come already prepared to be disappointed. _Prove me wrong,_ he didn’t quite say so it isn’t surprising that Rhaegar would fight until the end of his strength too.

In all her years, this is the closest Lyanna has seen of an actual duel. Even using blunt tourney swords, the stakes seem real and the King’s presence brings the gravity of the battlefield. 

There’s a scratching noise as the Prince nearly loses his footing, sliding backwards in the dust. He is nearing the edge of his rope now, hunched forward and gripping the sword with shaking hands. Ser Arthur pauses for a moment, not taking the opportunity to end this where he could easily do so and everyone notices.

Breathing in, Prince Rhaegar grits his teeth and jumps in again, aiming for the other’s left and then ducking right.

It nearly works.

Lyanna chews her nails as she follows the movements with her eyes.

The swords clash and then again.

A strike, a parry.

Ser Arthur attacks and the Prince blocks then tries to push his opponent in a wide open stance which forces Ser Arthur to grip the sword with both hands.

A strike again.

And then it happens. 

Another one of those quick, powerful blows by Ser Arthur is aimed at the Prince and he doesn’t have the strength to react in time - it hits him square across the face with a loud smack and sends him stumbling back.

His hair covers his face as he hunches over but she can see a drop of red fall on the ground below - and the instant regret on Ser Arthur’s face.

“Your grace, are you alright?” The master-at-arms hurries over, waving for the older boy to stop. Not that he needs to as the young knight has already dropped his sword, breathing heavily and resting with his hands gripping his knees.

Before Ser Willem can reach the Prince, the King intervenes. Crossing the distance, he walks over to where his son is still nearly doubled over. With one hand, he claps Rhaegar’s wrist and forces it down after he automatically moved to protect his face; with the other, he grips his chin and forcefully raises his head, inspecting the damage.

Leaning over to get a better look, Lyanna spies a growing swelling across his left cheek and the droplets of red dripping down his chin from his split lip.

“If this was a real battle,” King Aerys begins and his voice echoes across the yard, “you’d be dead. This is what happens when you insist on squandering your talents.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice is raspy and breathless but the father is unsympathetic, tightening his grip.

“Does it hurt?”

“...No.” 

“Good.” The King releases him. “If you cried over a small bruise like that, I’d give you one to match. The master-at-arms says you have potential - do you think I don’t know how you waste it? Just because I don’t come to watch does not mean I don’t always know what you’re doing. Posturing for ladies and playing with friends, and you think you can get away with it because the only person with the authority to tell you off doesn’t know, right? I expect better. The Seven have seen fit to only give me one child and I won’t see you grow up to be a failure.”

“I’ll try harder.” 

“You will.” With that, the King turns around, his purpose here finished. “Ser Arthur, this was a good fight. I see the people are right about you - there might be a future when I’ll have a need of men like you. But next time, don’t hold back. You’ll do him no favour.”

“Your Majesty, Lord Steffon is waiting.” Lord Tywin cuts in. “We’ve already wasted too much time-”

“-Yes, yes, talk my ear off with your damned schedule.” Aerys stalks off. “I am the King, Steffon can very much _wait_ , the pompous prat.”

Only when they are gone, Lyanna allows herself to breathe in relief.

_This was terrible._

“...I’m sorry.” Arthur wastes no time to turn his friend. “I didn’t mean to-”

“-You’ve heard your King.” Prince Rhaegar says flatly, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’ll do me no favour. I’m not going to cry like a little girl because you’ve whacked me across the face. If I catch you holding back again, I’ll find another sparring partner who won’t insult me like that.”

Bending over, he picks up his sword, paying no mind to everyone still watching.

“Let’s go again.”

* * *

They go on for at least an hour before the master-at-arms intervenes and forces them to stop out of fear they’ll hurt themselves. As soon as they discard the thin leather armour, the Prince stalks off, leaving Ser Arthur behind.

Lyanna feels terrible for him.

 _What a wretched King,_ she thinks hatefully.

Ser Arthur seems to read it from her face as they set off towards the Maidenvault. 

“I know what you’re thinking, but it’s a complicated situation.”

 _Things are complicated,_ Prince Rhaegar said back then.

“But it was a bit too much, wasn’t it?” Brandon chimes in, sounding wary.

“...yes.” Ser Arthur agrees softly. “A bit too much. They have a… complicated relationship and things have not gotten any easier since Prince Aegon died. With each child lost, it’s a little easier for the King to get lost in what-could-have-beens and take notice of what the son he does have lacks. Prince Aegon could have been a great warrior, Prince Daeron would have never talked back to him and Princess Shaena might have been cheerful and lovely. They could have all been living, laughing children but instead they’re ashes in a jar. And there is only Rhaegar.”

They round a corner.

“It’ll only get worse too - you’ll see. The more the King lashes out the more he fears the day Rhaegar realises he no longer needs to defer to him - and the more he fears the more he lashes out. It’s the nature of the world that the only thing that stands between a Crown Prince and absolute power is his father.” He says that in a hushed tone, eyes darting to the side.

“The Prince would never do something like that!” Lyanna protests hotly, feeling a strange urge to defend his honour.

“No, he would not.” The knight agrees. “He doesn’t have it in him; it’s not in his nature. He loves his father, in his own way. And I don’t think he truly realizes what is going on. Each time the King reminds him of his flaws, it’s to keep him from getting bolder and keep him submissive, but Rhaegar takes it seriously. He’ll sooner ride himself into the ground than let go of the reins.”

“...that’s so tragic.” Lyanna blinks furiously, feeling her eyes water. 

Ser Arthur shrugs but he looks sad too. “It is what it is. We cannot choose our families, only bear the ones we were given. So take this opportunity to treasure yours and don’t worry about the Targaryens. They’re not for you to concern yourself with. And don’t worry about the Prince, he’ll sulk and then he’ll get over it.”

* * *

It is safe to say that the gossip is fierce the following day. There were too many people present for it not to make the rounds. Thankfully, they seem to agree that the King was at fault - she could not bear it if she caught anyone mocking her friend. 

Already, she feels dirty just letting it be. Ser Arthur was right that it was a complicated situation but she hates just standing by idly.

 _Nobody can go against the King._ But it isn’t right - the King eers, hurts where he should soothe, mocks where he could praise. And nobody ever does a single thing about it, not even to point it out how great of an injustice he is causing.

_Perhaps if someone told him, he would change his ways._

She is left to dwell on these thoughts because Prince Rhaegar is not at their spot in the mornings, nor do they speak at the training yard. He is busy, throwing himself into training with new determination and she stops showing up for a while, remembering the part of the King’s lecture that spoke of postering for girls.

_That was about me, I’m the only girl there._

It makes her feel heavy with guilt.

Even Ned notices her poor mood, offering to keep her company. They play cards and Ned is _terrible_ at those which brings her some glee but she knows he is just being nice. Mother has told them that when Father comes, Ned is going home with him and then he is going to the Vale to be fostered with Lord Arryn. The next couple months until Father arrives might be some of the last they have together in a long while.

* * *

Ser Arthur is right and the Prince does sulk for about a week and then he is back to normal. A bit more subdued still, perhaps, and he strictly refuses to talk about it so they skirt around that conversation. His split lip has nearly completely healed but the bruise on his cheek has turned an ugly yellow-green. She tries not to comment but her eyes keep drifting to it.

It must have been a heavy blow; it was not meant to actually land, from what Lyanna understood. In that aspect, he is lucky to have kept his teeth and nose undamaged, a fact Ser Arthur is quick to point out.

“If I ruined your pretty face, the women all across the Seven Kingdom would never forgive me.”

“If I were you, I’d concern myself with my own face.”

“Is there something wrong with my face?”

“Not yet.”

At that point, Lyanna gathers things are truly back to how they were with the small difference of Ser Arthur being terrorised in the training yard every morning. It seems like Prince Rhaegar is truly determined to catch up to his older friend as soon as humanly possible. He forces him to repeat the move that got him hit in the face until he learns to block it - and then he deducts that the problem was never in blocking but the fact he lacks stamina so the new thing they are doing is running laps.

_He’ll truly ride himself into the ground before he lets go._

And she cannot help but find it ironic that Ser Arthur would warn her about it but there he is, running right along him and complaining every step of the way. 

While endearing, Lyanna finds that frustrating in an equal measure - it does not matter if he is willing to be along for it, he has already resigned himself to watching the tragedy in the making unfold. Rather than doing anything to prevent it, he would simply make himself into one more log to feed the flames.

* * *

One morning, Lyanna brings along the cards she played with Ned.

And proceeds to somehow win eight times in a row.

“You truly have terrible luck.” She comments, annoyed. The plan was to cheer him up but as it seems, fate is against Rhaegar Targaryen achieving happiness. 

“Maybe you’re just good at it.” 

“You can’t be good at a luck based game.”

“Ahh,” he throws the cards on the ground, showing that he would have lost yet again, “I give up. Let’s do something better, like cyvasse.”

* * *

On the Queen’s nameday, there is a feast. 

The castle is fuller than usual, filling up with guests from all over the realm who have arrived for the occasion. Septa Rianne is even more annoying than usual and it’s slowly starting to wear on Lyanna so she begins to skip her lessons.

A bad decision, she knows, because if her mother finds out she’ll be in trouble but with the influx of new arrivals, it seems like nobody even notices.

On the day of the feast, Lyanna is stuffed into her best dress, the soft blue velvet accentuated with silver and gold embroidery and each of the buttons is polished ivory. Mother then braids her hair in the southern fashion and nearly drowns her in perfume until she decides that Lyanna looks “as lovely as the morning dew” and she is finally released from the torment.

The feast itself is boring. A great deal of Lords, great and small, fill the Great Hall and feast on the mountains of food that is constantly being restocked by servants and the spacious wall echo with chatter. Lyanna is seated with her family, squashed in between her brothers and trying to think of things to discuss with them, which is made harder by the fact Ned doesn’t want to be there and Brandon is constantly complaining about how uncomfortable his clothes are.

 _It could be worse though,_ she thinks and chances a look to where the Royals sit at their high table. The King is talking to his cousin, the Lord of Storm’s End and the Queen and Prince are sitting so silently and elegantly, you might mistake them for a pair of very beautiful statues.

* * *

The whole thing becomes more fun when the bards bring out their lutes and people begin to gather for dance.

Lyanna barely has to ask - just like her, Brandon is eager to stretch his legs. They find their spot somewhere in the corner and dance for about three songs straight before he declares that only dancing with his sister is “embarrassing” and ditches her for a pretty Frey girl he spots nearby.

She sticks a tongue in his general direction and goes to pester Ned.

It takes some more convincing with Ned but he eventually relents. He’s a little more awkward than Brandon and Lyanna has to put up with having her feet stepped on a great deal but she cannot complain - at least with Ned she knows he won’t go wandering off. 

They dance and return to eat once the cakes are brought out and then dance again, until finally even Ned has enough.

“My feet hurt.” He complains. “You might want to harass some other boy now, sweet sister.”

“You are so boring. Go sit with Mother, if you’d like, but you’ll be missing out. You won’t see anything like this in the Vale.”

“As it is, that happens to be entirely fine by me.” 

She’s searching the Great Hall for Brandon when someone coughs and taps her shoulder. Lyanna nearly jumps out of her skin and turns to find Prince Rhaegar standing there with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Oh, it’s you.” She says intelligently.

“Are you looking for someone? You’re quite far from your own table.”

 _So you paid attention to where I sit?_ She nearly asks but thinks better of it when she realizes exactly how that’ll sound.

“My brother, actually. I was hoping to dance.”

He clears his throat, suddenly quite nervous.

“Well, I am not your brother, but I do know how to dance.”

 _Oh,_ Lyanna thinks. Somehow that thought had never occurred to her for the whole duration of her quest for a dance partner.

“Yes!” She agrees, a bit too enthusiastically and blushes.

Dancing is _fun_. The Prince is taller than Brandon and less awkward than Ned and he doesn’t mind when she picks up the tempo.

His hands are warm on her and she grasps the fabric of his tunic a bit too hard as they spin around. They’re talking, but she can’t remember what - it makes him laugh and she is laughing too, soaking up his joy.

The Great Hall with all of the people seems to fade away; the colours seem a little brighter, as if warm sunshine has suddenly broken through the roof and burned just for the two of them. On the walls, the three headed dragon shines back on red banners, turning in at every angle - no matter how quickly they spin, she can see it clearly, Rhaegar and the dragon, the silver of his hair burning into her eyes.

Once the song ends she starts through the daze, catching her breath.

“Again?” She asks. “As I can see, my brother is still not here to help me out.”

“If that is what my Lady wishes.”

But he is smiling too and then the next song starts and they are off again.

She doesn’t care if the people are staring or whispering, doesn’t care what they’ll say about her. The Lord Hand, she can see, is glowering quite hard and Rhaegar whispers something about daughters and marriage in a conspiratorial tone. Lyanna whispers something back that has him cackling like a child. 

_He can glower all he wants, I don’t care._

This is the most fun she’s had in a while and her cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.

After three dances he stops her.

“This is probably enough. Anything else would be indecent.”

“Oh.” She says, sad. Then something occurs to her.

“Will you dance with your mother?” 

He glances away. 

“She might not want-”

“-She’ll love it.” Lyanna assures. “She must be bored all the way up there.”

“...I suppose.”

He looks nervous as he ascends the stairs to where she is sitting. One last time, he looks back and Lyanna gives him a wide smile and a quick nod, encouraging him on.

 _It’s so sad,_ she thinks as she watches words being spoken and surprise crossing the Queen’s face before she nods and stands up, allowing her son to lead her to the dancefloor. _He just needs a little push but nobody ever dares to get close enough to meddle._

She doesn’t have time to dwell on it as she spots Brandon in the crowd, finishing up a dance with Lady Jeyne.

“Sweet brother, would you give me a dance?”

* * *

The septa is yelling again. Lyanna tunes it out but she is beginning to get frustrated with it all. Her stitches will never be great - so what? No matter what she did, septa Rianne would still find something to mock her for.

 _Giving your life to the Faith,_ she thinks, angrily stabbing into the fabric, _must be miserable._

* * *

She complains about it to anyone who’ll listen, receiving mixed reactions.

“You just have to bear it.” Mother sighs, but draws her in for a warm hug.

“Who cares? It’s a septa, you don’t follow the Faith. Just ignore her.” Brandon advises.

“I would not want to meet this septa of yours.” Ser Arthur whistles. “I promise you she would not want to see _my_ stitches either.”

“But you’re a man, you don’t _need_ to do that but I do.” She can’t help but complain. 

“And you don’t need to run laps across the yard because some princeling said so, it balances out.”

Lyanna scowls. Frankly, she’d rather run laps and she tells him as much.

* * *

“Lovely, lovely!” The septa coos, leaning over some girl’s work.

Chancing a look at her own, Lyanna winces. She has been trying to make it in the style of hunting tapestries, with a pack of wolves chasing a rabbit but in retrospect, that might have been too ambitious. All she has are the outlines and not even the outlines are even.

Or properly resembling the intended animal. One of her rabbits might have a leg too many and she has no idea how _that_ happened.

She knows she’s going to hear about it soon and resigns herself to her fate.

_At least it’ll be over soon, she’ll go through with me and then she will move on._

It doesn’t make it any more pleasant though. The woman is in the middle of tearing through every single mistake Lyanna has made when there is a knock on the door.

“I hope I am not disturbing.” Prince Rhaegar apologises calmly.

“Of course not, your grace.” The septa bows deeply, smoothing her linen dress. “May I help you?”

“I actually came to drop this for Lady Lyanna.”

He’s holding something in his hands; stretching her neck, Lyanna tries to see what it is but only as he gets closer does she recognise the flat shapes. 

_A book_. No surprise there.

“What is it?” 

“You’ll see.” He promises, handing it over.

When he is this close, she cannot help but feel self conscious, trying in vain to cover her botched embroidery. It’s silly, but after all the errors in it have been made known to the public, she feels embarrassed with the prospect of him lying his eyes on it.

But he does.

“I’ll admit I was curious how these lessons look like. I’m familiar with my mother’s sessions and those were always less… _loud_.” It sounds casual, the way he says it but the septa immediately understands.

“I am sure her Majesty’s work is flawless, your grace. Teaching art is never pleasant but it must be done. It is a simple skill every young woman must master.”

He tilts his head.

“I see. Do you happen to teach music too?”

“Oh, goodness, no. The Seven have not blessed me with such talents.”

“Then let me put it plainly. If my instructors taught art like you do, I would never pick up the harp again.”

There is little she can say to that.

* * *

The book, she finds, is some old leathery thing containing old myths and tales, most of which she already knows.

It was plainly just an excuse and that makes her laugh, warmth blooming in her chest.

* * *

The next lesson, septa Rianne is gone. The woman that replaced her is older and kinder. She has once served the Queen, when she was younger but her Majesty has decided that she is ready to relinquish her former teacher to the next generation.

Lyanna spends that afternoon picking flowers in the godswood, collecting all the daisies and pale violets she can find into a small bouquet which she presents to the Prince when she next sees him.

“Thank you.” There is much she would want to say but words seem inadequate; forcing flowers into his hands is a much clearer expression of gratitude. 

“It was my mother you should be thanking. She was horrified to hear about how the septa taught her lessons.” He accepts the bouquet though.

“But the Queen did not come to learn of it by herself, did she? And you stood up to her. So I am still grateful.”

A melancholy expression settles over his face.

“You should not thank me for that. I’m the heir to the throne. It doesn’t take much courage to stand up to someone who can’t say anything back. If anything, it’s you who was brave, for bearing it for as long as you did.”

Lyanna frowns.

“When did I speak about courage? You don’t need to be brave to be kind.”

He just shakes his head in response and she gets the feeling there is something he is trying to tell her that she is missing out on.

* * *

After she mentions the struggle it was to get the flowers from the godswood, he intercepts her in the hallway one day, flanked by Ser Barristan. 

“Where are we going?” She finds herself curious but she doesn’t need to wait long before he leads her straight to the Queen’s garden.

“I asked my mother, so you have her permission to pick some.”

Lyanna nearly stops in her tracks.

“Seriously? Is that really alright?”

The Prince just smiles and urges her along.

“Yes, she has so many roses, she won’t miss a couple. She never intended for this garden to be locked from everyone else to begin with.”

In that moment, she loves him more than anything.

The gardener gives her scissors and she finds herself sneaking around the rose bushes, looking for young buds with the best colour. It feels a little like going to the rose gardens in Winterfell and the memory makes her feel warm and at home.

The only thing that saddens her is that for all the colours the Queen has collected, there are no blue roses decorating her garden. It makes sense though; she doubts they would grow this far in the South when winter is not upon them. Instead, she picks some white ones and some of the smaller yellow Dornish ones, the colours that she knows her mother will enjoy.

“You can always make two bouquets.” The Prince suggests when she voices that. “One for yourself too.”

But Lyanna refuses to.

“I’ve already picked enough. And in any case, the best thing about flowers is giving them.” She allows Ser Barristan to help her tie the stems together with a ribbon. 

“You should pick some for the Queen too.” She can’t help but suggest. “I’m sure she’d be happy.”

He finds it in himself to object.

“Everything in here is hers to begin with, it would be silly to bring her something from her own garden.”

“It’s about the attention.” Lyanna parrots, remembering what Mother always told her. “My mother owns everything in the glass gardens back at Winterfell but she was still always happy when one of us brought her something, because it shows we thought of her.”

He frowns but she can see that he is considering it.

“Would that not be… childish, though? If I was younger-”

“-You _are_ a child.” She points out, not giving him the chance to finish. “Ser Barristan, what do you think? Would the Queen not enjoy some flowers from her garden?”

The knight was watching the exchange quietly before but he seems happy to add his own penny to the pile.

“I am certain her Majesty would appreciate a gift. Lady Lyanna is right - when it comes to showing that you’ve thought of someone, some flowers is no less of a gift than the most ornate jewellery might be.”

Outnumbered, the Prince relents, huffing with amusement.

“Fine then.” He allows Lyanna to grab his sleeve and drag him to where some of her favourites are. She suggests red roses, to go with their House colours and Ser Barristan recalls that the Queen used to be fond of purple too so they get some of those. 

Lyanna is careful enough to only cut the flowers on the back side of the bush, not willing to ruin the sights and she teaches him what to look for - if left to his own devices, she is fairly certain Prince Rhaegar would go for the roses that are in full bloom and then they would shrivel up and die in a matter of day.

They’re both a little bit dirty by the time they’re done but she’s sure Mother won’t mind when she presents her with her gift.

The sun shines warmly through the leaves of the cherry trees nearby and a gentle breeze runs through their hair. They stop at the small water fountain made out of polished white marble that is stood in the middle of the garden because Lyanna wants to take the time to observe the craftsmanship.

“This is so much better than sitting at stupid tea parties.” She can’t help but comment. If the Queen’s events in the garden were anything like that, she might have been looking forward to them more.

The Prince smiles fondly.

“It’s been a while since any real fun was had in this garden I think. I vaguely remember my mother might have taken me here when I was younger but I don’t really recall it well. Ser Barristan, did that ever happen?”

The knight hums. Lyanna gets the impression he is usually a quite somber man too but today, he seems in good spirits. The way he looks at the Prince, he might be almost fatherly.

“Indeed. When your grandfather still lived and the Queen was just a Princess still, she would often spend her days out here and bring you along. This was her mother’s garden before the tragedy of Summerhall took Princess Shaera from us so she always found peace in it.”

“Yes, I remember now.” Prince Rhaegar wears an odd look; sad, but not in a bad way. “It was summer then and there were bees so she’d always scold me not to run around with my mouth open. She wanted to bring Aegon here too, but the maester would not let her.”

He looks up somewhere above the trees and a gentle smile crosses his lips. 

“I agree, it’s much better than the stupid tea parties.”

* * *

Mother is quite surprised to see the flowers, to say the least.

“Where did you get these?” She draws her fingers across the petals as if she cannot quite believe.

“They’re for you.” Lyanna repeats, in case it wasn’t clear. “From the Queen’s garden.”

“The Queen’s-”

“-I had permission.” She butts in before Mother can get the wrong impression. “Prince Rhaegar said it was alright.”

Mother makes a strange face.

“Prince Rhaegar, huh? Well I suppose if he told you it was alright…”

* * *

Still, when the Queen invites them for a breakfast together Lyanna can tell that Mother is nervous. She paces around their chambers and picks and re-picks the outfits they’ll wear over and over again.

In the end, the breakfast is nothing eventful.

The Queen sits calmly, stirring her tea and the two septas flanking her follow her lead. The breakfast table is laid on the open balcony; the Queen enjoys the fresh air but when they crossed over her chambers, Lyanna spotted the roses in the vase, positioned tenderly right next to the bed.

She asks some questions about how they found the feast, if the servants have been hospitable to them and such; Mother answers those politely, reassuring her that everything is quite alright. Once the Queen is satisfied, she begins to focus on Lyanna.

She asks her about her hobbies, about her lessons, how she gets along with her brothers, if she misses Winterfell, what kind of food she likes and a mountain of other useless questions. Lyanna answers stiffly at first, afraid to be rude, especially with the septas present, but as time goes on and the Queen never takes offence, she relaxes.

Only once they finish eating does she turn to the main topic.

“It seems my son is quite fond of you, my Lady. Pray tell, how did the two of you make acquaintance?”

Lyanna wiggles in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. What can she tell her…?

“We met by coincidence and talked, I suppose. It was nothing that exciting.”

Queen Rhaella looks at her thoughtfully.

“Surely there must be more. He meets a great deal of people but he rarely takes notice. It took him quite some time to find that Dornish knight of his to begin with, I have almost given up on hope…”

She says it so dramatically that Lyanna can’t help being amused.

“His grace is not _that_ bad is he? He just takes some time.”

“Indeed. But not with you.”

She feels her cheeks colour.

“Ah. I can’t attest to that, truly. I was fairly certain I was annoying him at the beginning, but he must have changed his mind. I’m sorry, I can’t tell you more about it - it’s a secret. But it was nothing bad or indecent, I promise.”

The Queen presses her palms flat against the table.

“I see. Please forgive my curiosity, Lady Lyanna. I simply have a mother’s concern. I think you are good for him; you make him happy. It is partly my fault, I suppose. I always wanted to give him siblings so he wouldn’t need to be lonely but… it seems like it is not to be.” Her soft eyes seem filled in equal measure with grief in plea.

“So this is a selfish request, but I must make it anyway; please, stay by his side.”

Lyanna thinks back on when she was standing in the garden, dreaming of being a Kingsguard. _I wouldn’t mind that job,_ she thought then and she finds it still holds true.

“I’ve always been planning to.”

* * *

Years later, she would look back on this exchange and cringe, realising exactly what the purpose of the conversation was. Mother knew it, the Queen knew it and even the septas knew, but Lyanna was, at the time, happily oblivious as to what kind of a request the Queen had made of her.

* * *

In the next few weeks, a lot of things happen at once.

Lord Steffon is set to sail for Essos in search of a bride for the Prince but the preparations have barely begun when the arguing began. Few could tell what the King and the Queen are fighting about; but when dragons fight, it is not quiet and the whole castle is aware of it.

Lyanna wagers it must be something important, if the gentle Queen is arguing for it so fiercely.

But in turn Prince Rhaegar can hardly be found anywhere. “Sulking.” Ser Arthur tells her when she asks.

It works fine for Lyanna though because Father is arriving soon and she is spending as much time with Ned as possible. They play cards and walk around the castle and this time, she does not go out of her way to put him on the spot.

After a week, Father is there and Lyanna throws herself into his arms, inhaling the faint scent of home he carries with him. With both arms, he presses all three of them into a warm hug, kissing each of them on the forehead in turn, while Mother stands in the doorway and watches them fondly.

“How you’ve grown!” He wonders and Brandon takes this opportunity to show off the muscle he’s gained, making his siblings start clamouring for their turns of their father’s attention too.

* * *

The King summons Father to his rooms soon after and from then on, things calm down. The Queen is seen walking around Maegor’s Holdfast again, pale and tired but victorious. And Lord Steffon suddenly cancels all plans to sail to Essos.

Lyanna can’t quite make sense of it until her parents take the time to finally explain.

“We are considering a bethorthal. Not just yet of course, you are still so young, but for the future.” Mother is quick to add when she notices Lyanna’s look of fear.

Suddenly a lot of things make sense and she kicks herself for not noticing it sooner. Looking back, she remembers all the pretty dresses Mother bought her and she wonders how long she’s been planning this for.

A part of Lyanna resents that, is upset and furious at people making decisions involving her while leaving her in the dark and she sulks about it for a couple of days, refusing to even speak to any of them.

But another part of her, a small hidden piece she refuses to give a voice to, remembers the feast and the dance, remembers the way everything seemed so bright and she… doesn’t mind it.

She’s not keen to marry yet, but if she has to marry one day, she feels like this would be the only match she could accept. 

_It’s not quite Kingsguard but..._

* * *

The eventual dinner with the King is set to finalise things. He still has to give the final decision and her parents must still properly voice their agreement. 

It goes as well as expected.

The first part is awkward. They’re all sitting there in their best clothes and nobody is really talking. Mother and Father both wear frightening blank expressions and Lyanna would love to busy herself with food except it seems like nobody else has an appetite so she’s afraid of looking gluttonous. 

The only positive emotion in the room seems to be the looks the King is giving to his goblet of wine. 

_I bet he doesn’t want to be here either,_ she thinks but Lyanna is still mad at him for the yard accident so she refuses to feel bad.

If the first part is awkward, then the second part is just awful.

Aerys does not bother asking the king of questions Queen Rhaella asked. Instead, he goes straight to the point, asking her parents about family history and the number of children.

“Such a skinny thing.” He looks down on her. “Even Tywin’s whelp had some more meat on her bones.”

Lyanna feels her cheeks redden at that and she clutches the sides of her dress. For all the fears and reservations, it had never occurred to her that she might not be pretty enough.

“She’s still young.” The Queen intervenes sharply and Lyanna.

“You are not that young, but as far as I can see, you still fail to give me heirs.” He gives a disdainful look to his son. “Is this your choice? Not a drop of Valyrian blood in there.”

“I’ll do what you’ll tell me.” Prince Rhaegar mutters, looking quite miserable. He has been staring at his plate the whole time, avoiding her glances.

The King sighs in irritation and Lyanna realises they’re about to witness another argument.

“Seven help me. Between your mother and you, I don’t know who is worse about this.”

“You did not get to pick your bride. At least give your son the courtesy of doing so.” The Queen cuts in again. “It’s a good match and it hurts nobody.”

“Yes, I did not get to pick my wife. ‘You have your duty’ Father told us then.” He takes a long sip. “Look at how that ended, their duty. Now they’re all gone and all that is left is you and the one spawn you managed to bear me and now you want to talk about duty and marriage, as if I haven’t had a cup full of both.”

Turning to Lyanna, she finds herself facing his dark stare.

“Tell me girl, do you crave the duty? Or just the throne?”

“Father, please,” the Prince finally intervenes, “Lady Lyanna is nothing like that.”

“No? Then what do you want?”

“I-” Lyanna feels her mouth dry. _What can I say to him?_ “I want to marry someone I like, who won’t yell and who won’t be cruel.” There is more, of course, but she does not dare say.

She cannot tell the King how the only husband she would be happy with would be a husband who would see her unconventional hobbies and not mind them. A partner who would go along with her but give her space. Speak with her and not over her.

She cannot explain to him how the only future she wants is the one where she is Lyanna Stark and there is nobody forcing her into being anyone else.

* * *

“I am sorry.” The Prince apologises once the dinner is gone and he accompanies her and her parents to the Maidenvault. He still looks pale and stressed from the whole thing but then again, so does everyone present. “My father is - I understand if you want to think about this further.”

“We’ll discuss it.” Mother promises but Father says nothing.

“I really am sorry about this.” This apology is directed to Lyanna only.

He’s sincere, she knows that much, but there is something she just needs to know, question burning into her before she decides how she feels about him.

“Do you want this?”

“...There is nobody else I would rather marry.” He admits. “But it was not my idea to spring this on you. My mother did that all on her own.”

“I don’t mind it.” She tells him honestly, feeling brave. “So don’t apologise about that.”

“That’s not all. You saw how it was, I can’t promise you it’ll ever be any different and I’m sorry.” 

And that, she understands finally, is his real concern. She remembers the discussion they had after the incident with the septa, the cryptic statement he had about bravery.

_The King is the one person he can’t stand up to._

Her parents must be aware of that too, explaining Mother’s hesitation. In some sense, it would look cowardly, standing by and admitting he won’t be able to do much if she is insulted.

It’s not how Lyanna sees it.

She remembers the scene in the training yard; she had stood by then too, as did Ser Arhur, even despite all the words he had to say about it later. And the two of them could simply walk away and put it out of mind, while Rhaegar could not. She remembers thinking he was lonely but why would he not be? Who does he have, to help him where he cannot help himself?

She wonders what his own normal family dinners are like. What they _will be_ like in the future, if things go the way Ser Arthur predicts and she cannot make peace with the thought of him bearing that alone.

He is not dragging her into a pit of vipers, as far as Lyanna is concerned. The pit is already there and he is already in it and she loves him too much to walk away and leave him alone.

Aerys Targaryen _will not_ stand between the two of them and a happy future if Lyanna has something to say about it. And she knows, with every inch of her being, that they can be happy together, happier than apart perhaps. He was kind to her in a way few people were; he seemed to suit her wants like a well tailored glove and a part of her wanted to believe they were made that way.

“I don’t care about that. I’m marrying you, not your father.”

“Still…”

“The King is not as scary as septa Rianne - I guess you were right, I _am_ braver than you. So you’re going to need me there.” She tugs on his sleeve blindly until she manages to locate his hand. It's clammy and limp but warm. “We’re friends so that means we help each other out.”

He pauses in his step. It’s hard to say in the flickering torchlight but she thinks his eyes have an unusual shine to them and he opens his mouth but no words come out. Out of all the expression’s she’s seen on him, breathless wonder is one she’d like to see more of.

 _I do love him_ , Lyanna thinks. _As a person and a friend and a little bit more and I wouldn’t mind loving him for the rest of my life._

Father clears his throat, bringing himself back into her attention.

“As my wife said, we shall talk about it. But it seems my daughter already gave you her answer.”

* * *

They do talk about it. And Lyanna gives her answer over and over again until even Mother has to relent her concerns.

“As long as you will be happy.”

“I will be.” Lyanna promises and she means it with all her heart.

One day, she will be a woman grown and the bells at the Sept of Baelor will sing just for her and she will ascend the many steps with her father’s cloak heavy on her shoulders and she will be happy - she will fight every inch of the way to ensure it.

**Author's Note:**

> Not only is Lyanna an amazing, supportive friend but they're also soulmates your honour. My other one-shot deals more with Lyanna's arc so I suppose it's just fair that Rhaegar is more present in this one. We also kind of know more about his childhood than hers so that played a part too. But it's once again from Lyanna's POV because I don't want it to be too mopey. To unlock the hidden Rhaegar POV, consider the stuff that is happening in his life and then ask yourself "How would Jon deal with this?"
> 
> Some notes that did not make it in:  
> 1) Arthur is just a year or two older at most, he is just temporarily taller because he's gone through his growth spurt already. It won't last long.  
> 2) Robert's parents end up surviving in this. It's not that relevant but I felt I should mention it.  
> 3) An entire segment where Arthur accidentally gets Brandon drunk and Rhaegar gets to try out an older brother role only to find it's a thankless job and he doesn't like it  
> 4) 14 yo Jon cried after being a bastard so 14 yo Rhaegar also 100% cried after his dad dragged him, he just did it in private. And he totally got teary eyed at the end too. He's dealing with some shit, he can have some emotions.  
> 5) The real reasoning why Aerys was dragging his feet about the engagement is because he is childish and his logic is "well /I/ had to deal with it so you should too" but he was self aware enough to know it would sound petty if he said it like that


End file.
